ObLaDi, ObLaDoctor
by cm00ncow
Summary: The Doctor has met so many famous people... The Beatles are bound to be one of them, right? This is the story where he meets said amazing band and, of course, saves the world in the process. The Beatles, Captain Jack, the Tenth Doctor. Rated T just because Jack is Jack. Not AtU, but Beatles/Doctor X-over!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: I've Just Seen a Face

His head hurt. Actually, most of body did.

Paul McCartney looked around him in confusion. He hadn't remembered getting out of his car, hadn't remembered crawling to the spot in the middle of the road where he currently sat. And he had no clue why his heart was hammering the way it was, as if he had just been running for his life.

His eyes moved past the car, his car, and then jumped back to it. The poor vehicle was bunched up against a pole on the side of the road. It looked absolutely terrible, as if it would never be driven again. Paul couldn't even visualize the thing cruising down a road again, and he had a pretty good imagination.

Then it dawned on him that he didn't remember the crash. Not really. There was a vague shadow of memory trying to push its way to the front of his mind, but he couldn't get at it. It evaded the grasp of his conscious thoughts.

What had happened? Racking his brains, Paul was still coming up empty. He remembered clearly sitting at the wheel, looking out at the deserted road calmly as he drove on. He had known he had to be at the recording studio that day, promised his mates he'd be there. Now, he wondered what they would think when he didn't show up on time. They'd probably be worried; Paul usually wasn't the late one.

Paul heard a noise. A small scraping sound that sent shivers down his spine. But why? The sound wasn't anything he'd heard before was it? He swung his head around, looking helplessly around him. His mind was too disoriented, and his body ached too much to move a whole lot.

There was nothing there. But he suddenly remembered a fragment of how he crashed. There was a girl... But for the life of him, he couldn't even recall what she looked like, only that he was distracted by her. She was the reason he crashed. Right?

"Oh, Paul, you need some help," he told himself as he rubbed his head, "Next thing you'll be seeing things."

As if to prove his insanity, a new noise started, faintly at first, but growing in strength as it faded in and out. A blurred blue rectangle with a bright dot of light at its top was pulsing not far in front of him. It seemed to be the source of the sound, one that reminded Paul of creaking wood mixed with a whooshing breeze. With a final tone, as Paul sat, eyes transfixed on the strange new object, the blue box solidified and stood, yellow light glowing from the windows.

Eyes wide, Paul stared at the thing that had appeared as if by magic in front of him. He tried reasoning with himself, his thoughts pushing against each other, arguing in his mind. Trying to convince himself he was hallucinating, Paul closed his eyes tight, then opened them again.

It was still there. And the door swung open as a tall, thin man waltzed out of the blue police box, dressed in a suit and trench coat. He was grinning as he stepped out.

"Ah, the outskirts of London! This is where I once stopped the..." he said, then sighed, seeming to realize no one else was following him out of the box, "Right."

Paul, still staring with mouth agape, coughed. The movement made him moan softly in pain. His chest hurt.

But he had caught the attention of the strange, lonely man.

"Oh, hello, there!" the man called out cheerily, "I don't suppose you know the date, do you? Travelling around through points in time and space can really confuse a person. I know _where_ I am, just not quite _when_ I am, if you know what I mean."

"No... I don't. Uh... Who are you?" Paul asked quietly.

"Why, I'm the Doctor!" the man said, standing up straight.

Paul raised an eyebrow, "The doctor? Do you have a name?"

The Doctor's trench coat flapped in the breeze as he replied with a bit of disappointment, "You avoided one of my favourite questions quite neatly, there. And who might you be?"

Paul took a breath to answer, then let it out, scrunching up his face and thinking for a moment. "Actually... I'm not quite... oh wait, it's Paul. I'm Paul."

The scrawny man let out a small chuckle. "And they call me mad! But, back to my question: When are we? What's the date, Paul?"

"Uh... January. January something..."

"Right, right, would explain the chill. Let's see, it looks to be about... '65, am I right? 1965? No, wait! End of '66, but it's January, which would make it 1967. Ohh good times, this year!"

Paul gave him a blank look, wondering if the loony bin had recently had a security breach, maybe let out a patient or two. But the strange blue box was still there, reminding him that his own sanity was a bit questionable.

"Well, grand as this time is, it's really not where I was trying to get to," the Doctor said, scratching his head and scrunching up his face in an almost confused look, "Can never quite get to the right place..." He paused, as if a conversation was still going within his own mind.

Paul fidgeted a bit, then tried to stand up. His legs shook as he raised himself up slowly, pain throbbing in every nerve of his body. He grimaced against it, and focused on staying steady, racking his brains once again to figure out what had happened to him. Nope, the memory was lost. He sighed in frustration.

That seemed to bring the Doctor's attention back to the real world. "Sorry, did you say something? No? Alright, well, I'm off, then, to the correct time if I'm lucky. Loads of people say I am, lucky, that is, lucky to be alive, lucky to see the world, lucky to be a hero, lucky to-"

Paul interrupted, no having patience enough to listen to a rambling rant. "That's great. Look, you may have noticed I'm in a bit of a mess with no car and such. Would you mind helping me over to that police box so I can get some help?" He truly hoped said police box worked. Having materialized out of thin air before his eyes, he wasn't too confident.

The Doctor looked back at the box. "Ah. Don't think you'll reach too many police from there... Not _quite_ your average police box."

Closing his eyes in disappointment, Paul grumbled, "Fine. Didn't expect much. It's been that kind of day." He almost asked the strange man for help, but his pride wouldn't let him seek it. Not even when he knew he needed it.

"Sorry... Well, nice talking to you!" The Doctor gave a wave and joyful smile before turning on his heel and walking over to the box. He opened the door and slipped in.

"Thought you said it didn't work," Paul mumbled, limping over to the curb. He jumped as a strange sound started emulating from the box. It was a sound just like the one from when the thing first appeared, but it started loud then faded softer. Turning to look, Paul watched the police box fade in and out before disappearing completely. He looked around the deserted street, then began the process of convincing himself it never happened.

When the sounds began to float into his ears, he closed his eyes to shut them out, refusing to let himself go insane. That noise wasn't real, it couldn't be. He was merely imagining it, imagining it as it got louder and louder once again.

"Oi! Hold on!" It was the voice of the man, the one who had climbed into the box. "Paul!"

Unable to ignore his own name, Paul opened his eyes and wasn't really surprised to see the Doctor's head poking out of the box. "Yeah?"

"Paul McCartney?" He said, eyes glowing, "_The_ Paul McCartney?"

Paul answered nervously, having seen crazy fans before. "Uh... Yeah..."

"Ohhhh! I can't believe it, you're Paul McCartney!" The Doctor stepped out of the police box and went up to Paul, presumably to shake his hand. "I'm here with Paul! It's an honour, it really is! Can't believe I didn't recognize you at first, your voice is all over the galaxy! Quite a revolutionary leader, you are! Your songs, still played all over, no matter where one goes. Or when, for that matter. Well... Not so much in the past, but from here on out, they stick around!"

"Uh..." Paul didn't quite know what to say, besides telling the man he was cracked. Only the mad talked about time travel as if it were real.

"You know, I always thought you were a bit more quick-witted than that. Strange how people's legacies get distorted with time."

Defensively, Paul replied, "Let's see _you_ have a sharp wit when you can barely remember your own name! It's been a weird day."

The Doctor shrugged. "I forget you humans love your normalcy. Once again, nice meeting you and such. Keep up the singing!" He began heading back towards his disappearing box, and Paul's hope fell again. This man was never going to offer help, and no one else would be along for a while.

But he was wrong. The Doctor whirled back around, his trench coat fanning out. "Oh, I'm an idiot, you need help, don't you? That's supposed to be what I do. I'm the Doctor! Well, come along then, let's get you aboard the TARDIS."

"The _what_?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow. But, without answering, the odd man ducked under Paul's arm (he was a tall man, and had to bend his knees slightly to support Paul) and led him to the police box, taking some of Paul's weight so he didn't have to limp quite so much.

"Just a tic," Paul said, "How is this going to help? I thought you said it was broken."

"I never said anything of the sort! It won't get the police for you, but it's not broken by any means! Well... nothing important anyway. Chameleon circuit could still use repairs, but pressing matters came first and I rather like it how it is. Well, here we are. Welcome aboard the TARDIS!" He closed the door behind Paul and went up to a large, circular control panel.

Paul stared around him in wonder at the alien technology. He looked back at the door, which appeared as a normal police box door, then gaped at the huge interior. "It's... It's bigger on the inside?"

The Doctor grinned. "Another of my favourite questions, thank you, Paul!"

Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed, Paul sunk to the floor and sat against the wall. "What kind of drugs did they slip into my tea?" he mumbled as the noise started up again, and the Doctor frantically pushed buttons, hit switches, and once pounded the control panel with a hammer.

"Off we go, then!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Across the Universe**

Paul's eyes were wide as he looked around the massive interior. He stared in wonder at the lit-up spheres built into the walls around him, then let his eyes wander to the staircases, wondering where they led. The whole strange place was bathed in a golden light, creating shadows behind the oddly shaped structures that inhabited the place. The noise continued as the Doctor punched more buttons and pulled levers seemingly at random around the central control panel. In the centre of said panel, in a glass case, a transparent blue object was moving up and down in time with the sound.

"I'm tripping, aren't I?" Paul asked, holding on desperately to the only thought in which he wasn't stark-raving mad.

The Doctor glanced over. "Well, you look pretty beat up, but I don't think you look too drugged at this point. And I've had experience with telling differences between drugged and not! Why, just the other day I was over on- No, hold on... It wouldn't be days, it'd be years. Centuries, really... But that's beside the point! It's been a while since I had a human on board! Quite exciting, you know. I do hope you enjoy this place; it's one of my favourites, Felspoon. Ohhh, it's great there. Mountains that sway with the breeze. Brilliant!"

Giving the odd man a concerned glance, Paul stayed silent, figuring it better to do so in the hopes that the Doctor, who Paul suspected to be certifiably mad, would leave him out of whatever plans he had on planets that Paul doubted were real.

"McCartney! Do me a favour, would you? Open up that door and breathe, just breathe. It'll do you good, I'll bet. Little bit of Felspoon fresh air always helps a man out!"

"Uhh..." Paul said as he looked around, as if confirming he was the McCartney being ordered around. Seeing no one else, he did what most humans do when asked a request by the Doctor; he slowly and painfully got to his feet and pushed the door, beige on the inside, open.

With the first crack of the door, the air itself changed. It began to feel more electric, as if touching anything at all would produce a massive spark, one worthy of being called mini lightning. The small bit of the planet that could be seen was dusk dim, and bits of spindly light could be seen, as if in some sort of pattern. It was quiet, except for a faint crackling noise that was heard, but not noticed because it was so faint.

"Whoa," Paul breathed. His curiosity won over any thoughts of doing the smart thing, and he pulled the door open wider and gazed at the landscape for only a split second. Then, he took a step out of the doorway, drawn in by what appeared to be building outlines made completely of light. They were skyscrapers, that was evident, but there was no solid matter they in their structure.

"Paul!" the Doctor hollered, panic in his voice. He was suddenly clenching Paul's arm, dragging him back inside before his foot could touch the strange world's surface. Unfortunately, the quickness of the action unbalanced both of them, and they fell backward on the hard floor. The Doctor jumped right back up and slammed shut the door, then turned back around to face Paul, who was lying on the floor, angry and in more pain than ever.

"Why the ruddy hell did you do that?!" he growled, rolling over and sitting up.

Brushing off his trench coat, the Doctor put on an apologetic face. "Sorry, Paul, but if you would stepped down onto that surface, well, you would have a bit crispy. Seems this old TARDIS didn't quite get the planet right..."

"It'd be great if you could talk sense," Paul muttered.

"Ah, yes, you're new to this, right. You see, I was trying to fly us to Felspoon, but it seems something went wrong. We ended up here. Quite obviously on Seirhve," the Doctor explained, drawing out the last word, "This one's not known for its mountains. Never had any mountains, just a big flat sphere of rolled up, uncontainable static electricity. Luckily for the civilians, that's all they need to live and thrive!"

"Hold up, you mean there are people here? How come they get to step on the ground and I have to stay here in this trippy little big box?"

The Doctor pointed at Paul happily, "I like that! Trippy little big box. Sounds exciting!"

"The people?" Paul pressed.

"Oh, I don't think they're what you think of as people. Not in their natural form. Joulectros, they call themselves. Most of the universe does, too, actually. Funny how a name can travel farther and faster than anything else. For example, my own name tends to be known farther than even I've travelled, and I've certainly travelled a long way."

"Your name? What is your name, anyway?"

"Well, I already told you that. I'm the Doctor, remember? Now, back to Joulectros. A single Joulectro can harness the energy of a lightning bolt and use it to build. That's what they do with static, they build. Build and build and build. Unfortunately, using the energy to create everything makes the place a bit hostile for life forms as you know them. Zaps carbon-based forms with one touch of the ground. Luckily, that's not from personal experience."

Paul laughed wryly. "I would hope not; then I'd be talking to a dead man, wouldn't I?"

The Doctor gave him a look, one that sent chills down Paul's spine. It was a sad look, but laced with mysteries beyond anything Paul could possibly imagine. It lasted for an uncomfortably long time, then the Doctor seemed to be snapped out of whatever trance of memories he was in and jumped up towards the centre console.

"Well, enough of that, let's get off this planet. No point staying any longer. Any requests from the famous Paul McCartney? Aleph-777? Flogstrune? Kantra, Linktos, Uffe-"

"Or how about the studio where I promised I'd meet my mates? Abbey Road, heard of it?"

Laughing, the Doctor replied, "Heard of it? The whole universe has heard of it! Are you saying that's the one place, in the whole of time and space, in the whole of forever, that's the only place you want to go?"

"I did promise John I'd be there... And he'll never let me live it down if I'm late."

The Doctor shrugged and began his work around the control panel, pushing buttons seemingly at random, sometimes using hands, sometimes his feet, even his face was pushing a button at one point. "Oi, you want to lend a hand? Hold down this lever, would you?"

Getting to his feet, Paul did as he was told, felling the ground beneath him shake and shudder as they were hurled through time and space in a wild, yet somewhat controlled fashion.

"Brilliant, you're a natural born time traveller! Well, almost," the Doctor said, tipping his head to the side quickly as he said "well", then bringing it back to normal position, "I mean, for a human. Of course, there are some who are raised around time travel, but not you, no. You're just learning and doing a, well, a decent job. Well done."

The shuddering and accompanying noise stopped.

"We here, then?" Paul asked, a bit nervously, "At the right place this time?"

"Should be. Or relatively close. Might even be on time, too. Open the door and find out."

"Alright," he agreed, half-expecting to find the door leading out to a river of lava, or show him something even less ordinary. With those expectations, he was quite surprised to find himself in an empty room near the studio he was to meet the others in.

"So, I've done a little better now, have I?" the Doctor asked with a cocky grin, leaning up against the console.

"Looks fab so far, but you've probably made me late."

The tall man shrugged. "May have been a bit off. May have been a bit on, though, too. Shall we see? I've always wanted to see the inside of your studio! And here I am, standing with the one and only Paul McCartney right next to the Beatles' studio!"

"Right..." Paul said, not sure what to make of the man's broad grin and excitement. He wondered briefly how his own studio could compare to the excitement of travelling planet to planet. But he led the way out of the strange, nonsensical box, and down the hall to find the other Beatles, hoping they were there. Following him was the Doctor, pausing to lock his TARDIS, then jogging to catch up and walk with Paul.

"Oh, good, George," Paul said, "Am I late?"

"Hold on," the Doctor said, "George? But I thought George Harrison was... Ohhhh! Not Harrison, daft old me, George Martin, am I right? It's an honour!" He shook the bewildered manager's hand excitedly.

"Erm... yes, hello," Martin said, looking at Paul in confusion. Paul shook his head as if to say he didn't know why the strange man was so strange. "Well, it's nice to meet you, too. And, uh, Paul, you're quite late; you should know that! The lads have been waiting for three hours now. Three! Admittedly, Ringo's only been waiting two, and John two and a half, but poor George was here on time! Three hours, Paul. You'd better get in there quick."

"Oh, mind if I come along? Just to watch, mind you," the Doctor asked, "I'll be quiet, of course, don't want to interrupt anything."

George Martin shrugged. "I s'pose if you're a friend of Paul's, that's alright. Just hurry, Paul, will you? I've heard enough complaints as it is from them!"

Paul side-glanced at the Doctor, knowing he could never be quiet. But he led the way anyway, gesturing for the Doctor to follow. They kept a pace of a light jog until they reached the door. At the door, Paul gave a warning look to the Doctor, one that wasted and not caught by the tall, thin man.

"Well, here we go, then," Paul said, placing a hand on the studio door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: I've Got a Feeling**

Paul was met by three unhappy faces, all turning straight at him as he entered the room. He ducked his head a bit sheepishly and went right towards his bass, checking to make sure it was in tune as quickly as he could. It was.

"Sorry, lads, I met a bit of trouble on the way over. Me car's still abandoned over by-" Paul tried to explain.

"Sure, if you say so, Macca," John said, sounding a bit harsh, but not as much as he would have for someone not his mate. Then, as if he couldn't help it, he grinned and teased, "You're calling you're secret lovers by code names now, eh? Not too nice to leave this 'car' of yours abandoned, the poor bird."

Paul shook his head, not even attempting to deny the ridiculous claim. He knew it wasn't true and if the others had any doubts, well, that was their problem, wasn't it?

Ringo piped up with an unamused expression. "Whatever the reason, you're late and Martin wouldn't let us leave until we finish recording. Which, thanks to you, we couldn't even start."

"Gonna be a long day's night, eh, Ringsy?" John joked, elbowing the shorter man softly in the ribs.

Ringo gave him a glare out of the corner of his eye, obviously not at all amused.

"Besides, you were late, too," George added, lounging on a stool with his guitar, strumming it lightly.

A voice came over the speaker system, interrupting their short conversation. "Whenever you boys are ready, start the song! Some of us have lives outside of this studio, too!"

Immediately, John replied, "Really? Who would that be?"

George stifled a laugh and Paul noticeably relaxed, glad to have the negative attention away from himself. He enjoyed the centre of attention, just so long as it was a good centre.

"Cheeky, Lennon," the voice said dryly.

During all of this, the Doctor had positioned himself near the door, taking it all in and chuckling quietly to himself, wondering why it had never occurred to him to visit the Beatles beforehand. He felt a little ashamed that the thought had slipped his mind all nine hundred years. He had visited other bands from all eras, including this one (such as the Who... now that was an interesting introduction!), but never the most famous band he could think of.

No one seemed to register the tall man in the trench coat. John picked up his acoustic guitar, and Ringo grabbed his drumsticks. They did mic checks, and were cleared to begin their songs. Excited, the doctor squatted with his hands on his chin, elbows resting on his knees, looking like a child watching their hero in action.

"Take one!"

The music began, washing over the Doctor like a wave of peace. He looked more content than he had in a long while, grinning broadly and innocently.

All went well until Ringo missed a drum beat, and his whole rhythm got off track.

"Ringo!" Paul scolded, "I thought you were a good drummer!"

Ringo looked at his drumsticks, clenched in his hands. "So did I... I'm not sure what happened, I just... Me hands weren't there. I thought I moved them right, like I always do, but... I don't remember."

A chill went down the Doctor's spine, though he wasn't sure why. He stood up quickly and looked around, wondering if something in his subject area was going on. Some problem not from this world.

"Well, try and move 'em the right way, yeah?" Paul said.

"I'll try," nodded Ringo, still looking at his hands as if they had betrayed him.

George spoke softly, as was his custom. "It's alright, Rings, I missed a few notes meself. If you hadn't have gotten off beat, we still would have had to do it over again. Me guitar sounded dead horrible."

Ringo smiled and nodded his thanks, then they started up again.

The Doctor wasn't focused on the music this time. He reached into his pocket to find his screwdriver, but his hand merely groped around for the sonic tool, finding only lint. He spun around, finding it on the floor behind him. He wondered how it got to be there. It could have fallen out, he supposed, but that kind of thing was unusual. His pockets were deep; things usually stayed in them.

He picked it up and looked around again. After a scan around the room, he noticed something. Under the drumming, strumming, and plucking, there was a high-pitched whining sound. Coming from near him. To his own surprise, he found he was pressing the button on the screwdriver, activating it and pointing it to a corner of the room. He had no recollection of this, and immediately turned it off and stowed it away in his pocket. Something strange was going on.

"Cut, cut, stop, stop, stop!" the voice from the other side of the glass wall hollered.

The instruments stopped at various times and four unhappy Liverpudlian lads glared towards the glass. "What now?" Paul asked.

"Which one of you is buzzing?"

Ringo rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Is there someone sawing at the floor beneath my drumset again? Look," he said, waggling his decorated fingers, "All the rings are mine, none belong to some weird religion."

"Kaili!" John hollered, laughing.

"Shut it, Lennon. No, I'm serious, boys. Here, have a listen." The recorded clip was played back. First, it sounded normal, but there were various pauses where nobody was playing, then they'd start up again. At one point, George was heard saying, "them again!" in a slightly terrified voice. As a response, the Doctor's voice was heard for a brief second, then the music began again. This time, there was a definite, shrill buzzing sound.

"Afraid that's my fault," the Doctor said, holding out his screwdriver. "Sonic, you know."

"What about those pauses?" Paul asked, "I certainly never stopped playing."

"Probably the fault of recording equipment," George Martin said via the speakers, "We'll have someone over here to fix it. In the meantime, you lads go home and rest. We're starting early tomorrow. And I want everyone on time." One could easily imagine the sternness on his face by the same emotion in his voice. The Doctor remained quiet, not wanting to alarm anyone unless he himself knew the correct answer to the strange happenings.

"Aye aye," John saluted. Everyone set down their instruments and filed out. The Doctor followed.

"So, who is that fellow?" Ringo asked Paul quietly, walking a bit ahead of the lanky, alien man.

Paul shrugged. "Hard to explain. He helped me out getting here. Calls himself the Doctor."

Ringo looked at Paul in confusion. "Doctor who?"

The Doctor smiled faintly. He did love those familiar questions.

The group of five walked out of the building. Looking around for their manager as a child would do so for a parent when doing something they know they'd be rebuked for, John asked, "Anyone up for a couple of rounds at the pub?"

"John, you're a married man," Paul sighed.

John looked hurt. "I never said anything about going on the pull, did I? Can't a bloke have a drink with his mates in a public place?"

George shrugged. "Could always bring Cyn along. I think I'll phone Pattie and see if she's up for it."

Paul nodded, "Good idea. She could use a break from planning your big day. Meanwhile, I'm not taken at the moment."

"Congrats," John said, rolling his eyes, "But George, Cyn has Julian. He's only three, you know. They're probably both in bed."

George had already gone off to find a phone.

Ringo shrugged. "I'm up for a pub visit."

"Then it's decided," John said happily, "It's been a good while since we actually did something fun as a band. Record music, that's all we do these days."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Did the job description for a band mate change while I was out?"

The Doctor piped up then, completely changing the subject. "Anyone see anything odd recently?" As usual, he had been musing over other things while the lads talked. He thought about going back to the TARDIS and checking what files he had on memory erasing, but he figured the old girl had done enough good for a day. Besides, he loathed the thought of doing deskwork and research rather than discovering things for himself.

John seemed to notice him for the first time. "And who are you, anyroad? You were in the studio with us, but who are you?"

With a grin, the tall, thin man put out a hand. "I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lennon."

Without shaking it, John replied, "A doctor? I don't trust doctors."

George appeared back at that moment, adding, "I don't trust dentists."

John took this into account and nodded. "Right. Or dentists, but for a whole nother reason!"

The Doctor retracted his hand. "I'm not that kind of Doctor, I'm afraid."

"What kind are you, then?" John asked, close to the Doctor's face.

Not at all concerned, the Doctor began to reply, but was interrupted by a loud shout that made him quickly turn his head. He inwardly groaned.

"Doctor!" a broad-shouldered man (at least compared to the Doctor) hollered, running towards him in some sort of army jacket.

"You know him?" Ringo asked, looking wary of the man who was rapidly approaching.

"I know him well," the Doctor admitted, "Travelled with him once or twice. Although... I suppose he hasn't actually travelled with me yet."

Ringo gave the Doctor an odd look, then took a step back.

"Doctor!" Jack said, stopping to catch his breath. He took only a moment, then straightened up. "New companions? Where'd that Rose go?"

A look of pain crossed the Doctor's face as he remembered once again what had happened to his Rose. His hearts felt like they were breaking for the thousandth time, once for every time he let himself remember her. "I'm travelling alone now."

"Hold on a tic!" Paul said, "Who's this?"

"Excuse my manners," Jack said, bowing slightly as he extended a hand, "Captain Jack Harkness. And you are...?"

"Stop it," the Doctor warned, as he had many times in the past. Or rather... the future. But it was his personal past.

"Stop what?" Jack asked, "I'm only saying hi!"

"Yeah, but for you, that's a whole lot more than just hello."

Paul looked at Jack, then at the Doctor. "I don't mind. He's a lot more polite than you were. Much more so than Lennon, here."

Jack's dazzling grin broadened. "Lennon? John Lennon? Then..." he eyed up the group, then pointed at each member in turn, "Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, George Harrison! The Beatles! Doctor, you certainly find some great people! Nice to meet everyone, really, it's an honour!"

John leaned over to Ringo. "Americans..." he said, still acting all in fun.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Jack, what are you doing so far from Cardiff?"

Harkness took the doctor aside. "Actually, it's a bit of a sensitive issue that I was hoping you could help with..."

The Doctor's raised an eyebrow, his left one arching high above the right. "What's happened?"

Jack looked at the band warily. "I think we ought to get them to safety first. Then we'll talk. Trust me, it'll make sense when I explain. And I promise, Doctor, I've changed. I'm not a criminal anymore, not-"

The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Jack, I know. And you can explain it all to me in a few years. But now, where do you have in mind?"

Jack grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Drive My Car **

Jack drove the grumbling group down a dirt road, driving recklessly in an unmarked black car that really didn't seat everyone very well. He watched the speedometer inch up to higher and higher numbers with glee. A glee that didn't show on his face at all, but was there all the same.

The Doctor, sitting in between Jack and John Lennon in an awkward middle seat next to the driver, gripped the front of his seat, knuckles turning white. "And this, Jack," he said, with just a hint of nervousness, "is why I never let you drive the TARDIS."

Jack just looked over and flashed him a grin.

"Oi!" Paul hollered from the backseat, sitting behind John, smashed between Ringo and the door, "Eyes on the road, mate!" He looked a bit green. But he certainly wasn't the only one as the car careened down the road, vibrating as it rapidly passed over the bumpy dirt road.

"I'm going to be sick..." Ringo muttered.

"Not on me, you're not," Paul said, trying to inch away from him. But it was to no avail in the cramped vehicle.

George silently tried to inch away in the other direction, but there was simply no room.

"I'll never understand how you got us in here like this," John moaned, "You're absolutely bloody mad!"

Jack grinned again, this time still looking at the road. It may have been a bit manipulative, what he had done, but it was all for the good of the Beatles. Besides, if you have fifty-first century pheromones, you may as well use them. Working actively on the four twentieth century lads, it wasn't too hard to get them to do what he wished. Harkness only wished they would work on the Doctor...

"Here we are!" Jack said cheerily, turning into a small clearing among rows of trees. The trees themselves were orderly, obviously planted there at one point. But dispersed among them were dozens of smaller plants. Bushes and brush, frozen weeds and wildflowers were jumbled together wherever there was space between the fruitless, bare trees. Beyond them, one could see nothing.

"And this is..." Paul trailed off, squinting in the darkness for a sign of people or man-made structures.

"Who cares! So long as one of you sods lets me out of this death machine, I'd be happy to be in... in... Well, even Alabama!" Ringo exclaimed.

John cringed slightly.

"What's so bad about Alabama?" Jack asked, wondering what they could possibly have against just the one state in America.

The Doctor laughed, a bit inappropriate for the moment, but he didn't seem to care. He knew and remembered full well all about the burning of Beatles merchandise in the southern part of the USA. He had his suspicions there was involvement from another race, another life form, but he hadn't had the chance to find out for himself. With a last chuckle, he said, "Living as long you have, Jack, I'm surprised your memory isn't up to par! Either that or you haven't kept caught up with current events. Although, current is a relative term to some, as is past and future. I'd have thought it'd be much simpler to keep up when you're living in numerical order, rather than bouncing around from place to time. Shame on you, Jack!" Seeing the confused and slightly concerned faces of four individuals, he added, "Ah, yes. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey sort of things."

There was a moment of pause, awkward to everyone except the time lord, then three car doors opened almost simultaneously as the Beatles got out of the car rather quickly. Ringo scrambled out last, following after George, who had gotten out before Paul. John backed away from the car, mumbling about homicidal mad men.

Overhearing a few choice words, Jack chuckled and patted the vehicle as he got out. The Doctor followed, adjusting his tie slightly as he did so. He raised an eyebrow at John's mutterings, but said nothing.

"Alright, kids," Jack said, clapping his hands together, "Shelter's just this way."

This time, Paul raised the eyebrow. "Kids?" he questioned.

"You know, this seems like the perfect atmosphere for a murderer to hit," John said slowly, eyeing up Jack suspiciously.

"Or rape," Jack agreed, "Although, I've heard it's not rape if you don't fight it."

"Stop it," the Doctor ordered, wondering why he had agreed to Jack's plan so readily. He had forgotten what Jack was like.

Jack laughed and put his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, none of that, then. Sorry, not tonight."

The Doctor rolled his eyes dramatically. The four lads just looked downright terrified at this point. With Jack not close enough for them to be overwhelmed by his futuristic pheromones, their utter trust and near infatuation with him had vanished, leaving all four suspicious of the strange man.

"Well, c'mon," the Doctor said, "Before the real murderers find us, allons-y!"

Jack slightly cringed at the insinuation of his innocence, knowing and remembering full well many things he was not proud of doing, but in the blink of an eye, his mask fell back into place, hiding all his true emotion.

"Why the bloody hell do you trust him?" Paul asked, crossing his arms, "Because I sure don't."

The Doctor shrugged. "He's saved some lives in his time. I probably owe him a thing or two, or perhaps two and a half, depending on how you look at it... Although, that one time, I did manage to- Ah, but that's not important!"

There was a howl in the distance, and a few shivers were caught, having nothing to do with the cold. Although, it wasn't exactly warm standing in an old orchard at night in January.

"Take us back," Paul insisted.

Jack checked a watch on his arm. It was ridiculously large, at least to the Liverpudlian lads. The Doctor wasn't fazed, though. Looking back up, Jack sighed. "Look, we need to go. There's a high level of energy around here. Static electricity, by the looks of it, but it's somehow different. Something I couldn't pick out. Something's coming, so we need to be leaving. If you don't cooperate now, I'll take measures to ensure that you do in about a minute. So, let's go. Like he said, allons-y."

The Doctor, not to be outdone by a watch, took his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. He pointed it around, letting it pick up any energy signals as it glowed a bright blue. He looked at it and then at Jack. Finally, he turned towards the band members, speaking more seriously than ever before. "We need to get out of here."

"Alright, your minute's up," Jack said, "Ladies and gentlemen, follow me. And please, no foreplay. Not yet." With that, he pulled a gun out from his belt, a small yet deadly weapon, and pointed it at the four. "Move and no one gets lasered." Jack rounded up the now terrified Beatles and led them into the woods.

"Nice knowing you, lads," John muttered, a lump of fear caught in his throat.

"Using guns, Harkness?" the Doctor asked, raising an eyebrow as he jogged next to the Captain, "Really? You can't just point weapons at people to make them obey, that's inhumane!"

"No offense, Doctor," Jack said, "But inhumane would be knocking them out, binding them up and dragging them away. This, although not everyone's favourite, at least ensures full consciousness."

"But pointing a gun at them? Captain Jack Harkness! I thought you were better than that! Put the gun away!" he argued.

"And let them stay behind and face who knows what?" Jack countered, "I'm doing them a favour; they just don't know it yet."

"Jack," the Doctor warned.

"Oh, let it go!" he said, full realizing he was arguing with a time lord as if they were a married couple.

They ran in silence. Then, suddenly, Jack stopped and bent down. "Better not think any murderous thoughts about me, Doctor."

"How I managed to travel with you in the TARDIS is beyond me. You're impossible!"

The four Beatles, all uncharacteristically silent, stopped just behind Jack and the Doctor. They were staring at Jack, all with slightly varying degrees of shock.

"In here," Jack said, pulling up a hidden trap door, layered with convincing grass, and revealing an old bomb shelter. He moved aside and nudged the four lads through first. Then, the Doctor ducked inside, giving Jack a disapproving look as he did so.

Jack sighed. "New face, new issues," he mumbled, hopping in after the others and closing the door behind him. He stowed the gun away, much to the relief of the Beatles.

"For the record," John spat, "I hate you, you bloody son of a git!"

Jack shrugged and pulled a cord on the wall, lighting up what had been a dim room before. "Fine with me. I've dated people who hate me before."

John looked ready to throw a punch or two, but he was distracted by the room around him. Every eye was wandering around the room, looking at it in amazement. Everyone except the Doctor, who just glared at Harkness, still angry at him for his form of mind control.

What had seemed to be a simple bomb shelter from the past war, was actually so much more. Whoever had gotten a hold of it before Jack had widened it greatly and covered the walls with a clean white tile. The floor was covered in a soft, beige carpet. Not only was it huge and nice-looking, but it was also liveable. For many. On one wall were three sets of bunk beds, each with its own soft mattress and baby blue sheets. On the other end of the expansive room sat a large wooden desk. Piled on the desk were mounds of papers, most with the heading of "Torchwood: Top Secret!" There was a file cabinet with all its drawers completely empty, presumably because the documents were covering the desk and surrounding floor.

"What's this?" Ringo asked, having chosen to ignore his unexplainable former infatuation, then horrifying terror with the strange man rather than dwelling on it and becoming angry. He held up a small black sphere with strange lines and dots stencilled on it in purple. It fit cosily in his hand, and was lightweight, like a tennis ball. Unlike a tennis ball, it was harder than a diamond.

Before Jack could answer, the Doctor's face fell farther. "Where did you get this technology?"

"I didn't kill anyone, if that's what you're asking," Jack replied.

"You understand how it works?" the Doctor questioned suspiciously.

"Sure. Whoever's house it inhabits is graced with its protection. Sort of reads minds, finds out who's a danger to me and who's safe. Useful little thing."

The Doctor nodded. "Right. Except it doesn't change its protected subject unless its former one dies. And even then, it moves on to next of kin, not some stranger. Unless you know the tedious and delicate process of reprogramming the sphere, it shouldn't have worked for you. It shouldn't be protecting you unless the whole family is killed."

Jack shrugged. "I just found it down here. Haven't had time to research it."

"Not that this isn't terribly interesting," Paul interrupted, "But I'd love to go back home. This has been an adventure and you have a very nice house and all with weird, mumbo-jumbo things, but I think I'm done. All I want to do is sleep... It's been a weird day and I'm done with aliens and guns and the like."

Jack took a closer look at Paul and sighed. If the Doctor were a doctor of medicine, he certainly would have been quite useful. As it was, he was useful in different ways, although nothing that would help Paul. "Alright, I don't really care how it happened, but you're a bit injured, there, Paul. I'm going to assume it was on the fault of him." He motioned to the Doctor.

Paul looked surprised. And suspicious. "Not exactly... But he did show up afterwards... Oi, I'm not letting you near me!"

"Typical," Jack said, nodding. He winked at the Doctor to let him know he didn't blame him. "Well, whatever happened, it looks painful, am I right? I'm no doctor, but I'd guess head trauma... Split lip, that one's obvious. And I'm sure plenty of bruises will show up, if they haven't already. How is it that you didn't make him," he motioned once again to the Doctor, "take you to a hospital?"

Paul shrugged. "Didn't think of it, I suppose. Mind was elsewhere. Actually... I don't quite recall why not..."

The Doctor cut in. "Ah, yes, right then. Probably the bump on the head that Jack suspects. Probably best to just hunker down for the night, sleep and heal. Don't you think, Jack? I'm sure they're all a bit tired," he said quickly.

Jack eyed him, wondering why he was suddenly so keen on them being out of the way, sleeping. "Right," he said, putting on his best host voice. Which, granted, wasn't actually very good. "Why don't you four claim a bed and the Doctor and I will lock things up. Make yourselves at home. Food's just through that door," he pointed at a door on a far wall, white like the walls and barely visible, "if you're hungry. Otherwise, we'll be right back."

With that, Jack led the way up the ladder and out, closing the trapdoor behind the Doctor. He put a hand on his gun holster, and asked with a smirk, "What's up, Doc?"

"Jack, this is serious," the Doctor said, "Something is messing with memories. I don't know what, and I don't know why, but something is not right." He took out his screwdriver and scanned the area, then made a face.

Resisting the urge to make fun of the fact that his sonic tool was a screwdriver, Jack asked, "What is it?"

The time lord, nine hundred plus years old and full of knowledge, looked sadly at Jack's concerned face. "That's just it. I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: I Just Don't Understand**

"This is rubbish," John grumbled after the two strange men left, leaving just the four band mates in the glorified bomb shelter.

"No," Paul disagreed, "This is madness."

George wandered over to the white door, into the kitchen. Waiting for Paul to arrive at the recording studio, they had all missed dinner, and all the insanity they had experienced couldn't change the fact that he was hungry. "Anyone else want anything?" he offered, hand on the doorknob.

"I don't trust that man... and I certainly don't trust where he brought us!" John replied suspiciously.

Ringo, on the other hand, nodded and told George he'd come with. Paul shrugged and, with a look at John, said the same. "Gotta be something safe to eat, right? The man's gotta eat, too," he reasoned.

John grunted and stayed where he stood, arms crossed. He watched his three mates disappear through the door, hoping his cynical thoughts were too farfetched to be true. Poison in the food was not something he'd want anyone to have to deal with, least of all his friends.

He plopped down on one of the lower bunk beds, surprised to find it comfortable, and ignored the growling of his stomach. He needed a smoke. It had been a weird and stressful afternoon, but gis cigarettes were nowhere to be found. Probably sitting on top of his guitar case or something. Nothing he could do.

He heard a shout coming from the supposed kitchen and jumped to attention. But it was followed by laughter, so he relaxed once more. If no one was in trouble, he would not change his mind, would remain stubborn in his choice.

Soon enough, the other three returned, each with a sandwich or two.

"Sure you don't want anything, Lennon?" Paul offered.

"One of us has to stay healthy and unpoisoned, Macca," John replied.

Paul shrugged. "Suit yourself." He wandered over to the papers strewn atop the desk and casually picked one up, reading it between bites of his sandwich. "Torchwood: Top Secret... The contents of this document only to be read with permission of Torchwood officials. Not complying is punishable by death under Torchwood rules and regulations."

Ringo and George looked at Paul with alarmed expressions. John jumped up off the bed to read over Paul's shoulder. "Death, eh? Bit harsh," he commented. As Paul began to set the document back down, John protested, "Now hold on a tic, maybe I wanted to continue anyway!"

"Oi, let's not start making death sentences for ourselves, yeah?" Ringo said.

"I don't think you're supposed to read that," George agreed in all seriousness.

John shrugged and snatched the paper from Paul's hand, reading out loud. "Subject: Mr. Gregory Southton, otherwise known as the Weevil Keeper. Objective: In order to certify civilian's safety, the Weevil Keeper must be retired and his pets to be taken care of in a similar fashion. Key Operative: Jack Harkness."

"That Jack Harkness?" George asked, gesturing towards the door that Jack had disappeared through.

"Don't know of any others," Paul muttered.

"Shut up, you lot, I haven't finished!" John said, silencing the others, "There's a handwritten note on the bottom here."

Paul grabbed it from his hands and read it aloud. "Harkness, you mess this up, you can expect to be shot. And stabbed. And hung. Maybe even suffocated. Get rid of this guy without witnesses. And don't screw it up! -Boss."

"You made that up, didn't you?" Ringo asked, slightly suspicious.

Paul shook his head. "See for yourself. Word for word."

John grimaced. "That bloke is mountains of trouble. Sounds like his life is on the line."

"Think he's a paid assassin or something?" Paul asked, rereading the document.

John shrugged and picked up another paper, this one ordering the man on another mission, after some other guy. This one was dated farther back, and crumpled slightly. He set it aside and picked from another pile, reading a few words before giving up. It was some sort of informative document, that was blatant, but there were too many unfamiliar words. He couldn't make sense of it. "I don't like it, whatever he is."

"What if he comes in here and sees us reading his papers?" Ringo asked, concern in his big blue eyes.

Paul backed away from them. "True. Sounds like he's a part of this Torchwood thing, in some way or another. Maybe we should let it be."

John glanced down at the papers once more, then shrugged, feigning indifference. "Yeah, whatever. Most of it's boring mumbo-jumbo anyway." He walked away, casting a nervous glance at the trap door that led to the outside world, where this strange Harkness fellow was.

"I don't know about anyone else," Paul said with a yawn that he had been trying to hold back for quite some time, "But I'm beat. If I get murdered in my sleep, at least I'll have had some sleep." He walked over to the bunk bed and, looking warily at the top bunk, claimed the bottom as his own. "Goodnight, hope to see you all in the morning," he said, slipping out of his shoes and jacket and crawling under the blue sheets. He nestled his head into the pillow and closed his eyes.

John looked at the others, then sprinted towards the bunk above Paul, clambering up and sitting quite proudly in his new spot. "Don't know about you lads, but I'm claiming this spot. Top bed, and I won't have to share a bunk with either the crazy innuendo assassin or the weird smart bloke."

George and Ringo grinned simultaneously. Then, with a quick glance at each other, they both took off towards the pair of beds stacked in the middle. George got there first, just before Ringo, and managed to pull himself up on the top bunk, landing with a thump. Ringo was halfway up the ladder, but scowled when he saw he was beat. He took the bottom bunk, grumbling good-naturedly at Harrison.

"Oi," John said, "Don't wanna keep Macca up, now do we?" He grinned as he shifted loudly against said Beatle. When he earned no reaction, he peered over the edge at the bassist below him and chuckled. Paul was nearly unconscious; he was so deep in sleep. His mouth hung open as he softly snored.

"Wish I could fall asleep that fast," Ringo said. Meanwhile, above him, George had followed Paul's lead and had managed to fall asleep, also.

John chuckled. "Same here, Rings, same here." His face turned grim. "Hope to see you alive in the morning."

Ringo snorted. "Goodnight to you, too, sunshine."

And with that, the two became silent, each lost in their own thoughts as they tried to find sleep in a strange and possibly hazardous place.

* * *

"You don't know?" Jack asked, staring at the Doctor, the man he trusted to know exactly what to do, even in the most dire of circumstances. Of course, the Doctor's plans were sometimes made mere seconds before it was too late, but Jack could always count on him.

"Well, don't rub it in!" the time lord said, racking his brains yet again to figure it out, "These readings don't make sense. Static electricity I get, that part makes sense. In these high of traces, I'd suspect some sort of involvement from someone; there's whole civilizations formed around using this energy. But this… other thing. This other stuff that's there. Not anything I recognize, and I recognize a lot from nearly every solar system from now until the end of time! No, this is different… Oh, stupid, think! What is it; what could it be?"

Jack stood there, watching the Doctor rant to himself. He did that often enough, from what Jack remembered, and it usually helped him figure out whatever the problem was. This time, however, it didn't seem to be leading anywhere. Jack wondered if the Doctor was tired, wondered if he ever actually slept.

"No, it's only the twentieth century; there have only been so many human encounters with other species; this should be easy to figure out," the Doctor continued, "Obviously not the Slitheen, nor the Visian; I know when they're around. Not a Krafaysis, no Tingha, come on, it's something!"

Jack interrupted. "Doctor, I think we should call it a night."

"Oh, bugger that, I'll never be able to sleep without knowing what's causing this!"

Jack shrugged. "Who said anything about sleep."

Completely missing the implication, the Doctor sighed. "Yes, alright, let's go inside, then." He cast a longing glance behind him, wishing he knew what he was looking for, then followed Jack back into the hideout. Bomb shelter was far too dark and shabby a name for the place Jack was currently residing.

"Damn, all of them sleeping. And I was hoping for some entertainment!" Jack said in a hushed tone.

John growled, "Bugger off, you son of a git."

This only made Harkness laugh. But he motioned for the Doctor to follow him out of the room, through the door to the kitchen, so they could leave the Beatles in peace to rest. At least two of them appeared to be deep in sleep, their breathing slow and regular.

Once through the door, Jack flicked on the lights. They revealed an orderly kitchen, only slightly mussed by the earlier sandwich-making. Beyond the protruding countertops were two stools, one of which Jack soon occupied as he cracked open an alcoholic beverage of his choice, not really looking at the label beforehand. He wasn't too concerned about what it was he was drinking, only that he was thirsty. He offered one to the Doctor, who waved a hand in decline.

"So," Jack said, taking a sip, "There are unknown things out there who dwell with static electricity, but don't cause it, am I correct?"

"Yes, yes, that's it. And they're either invisible or incorporeal."

"Or really good at hide-and-seek," Jack added, taking another swig.

"Or really very good at hide-and-seek," the Doctor said, not agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Well, I'm sure they'll show themselves at some point. Or you'll force them to," Jack said, then set his drink down with a small crash, "But I was wondering if I could ask you a favor, or rather, for advice."

The time lord nodded, obviously too distracted to know what he just agreed to.

Rather than press the issue at hand, Jack decided to have some fun, first. "Okay, thanks. Then you won't mind taking off your coat and trousers, will you?"

Still not paying attention as he paced the floor, the Doctor grunted his agreement. One could almost see the gears of his mind whirring away, faster than any human thoughts could travel.

"Ah, good," Jack crowed, "Then we can take this into the bottom bunk –someone would fall off the top –and for the night, I could-"

"Jack," the Doctor said suddenly, pausing in his pacing, "What if it's not that I don't know what they are, but that I've forgotten?"

"Forgotten?"

The Doctor nodded and began to pace again as he explained his theory. "Yes, forgotten. Memory, that's a tricky thing to deal with. Take some away and who knows what could happen. But Ringo couldn't remember where his hands should have been while drumming. All four of the Beatles didn't remember that they stopped playing, multiple times, in the studio, even though the recording clearly played those pauses. Paul couldn't remember why he was in the middle of the road earlier today. How many other things have we forgotten we forgot?"

Jack stared at the Doctor. "You think you're dealing with something that hides your memories? Then there's a way to get them back, make them come out of hiding. It's been done; there are tricks to both remembering and forgetting." He thought of his own misplaced memories, the two years taken from his mind as well as those memories he blocked off so he never had to relive them.

"Not this one," the Doctor replied, "Even I can't get at these memories and, let's face it, I'm brilliant!"

Jack rolled his eyes and smiled. Same old Doctor.

"No, this is something different, something… Oh, I don't know, it can't be new, can it? Changed timelines can do that. Did I change a timeline? One small thing, that's all it takes…"

"Like the butterfly effect?" Jack offered.

"The what?" the Doctor said, giving Jack a confused look.

"Never mind, it's not important," Harkness said with a dismissal wave of his hand.

"Right, well then. Shouldn't you be asleep, Jack? You are human, despite your immortality and interesting timeline," the Doctor said, happening to look at a clock on the wall and find the time to be rather late at night. Or, early in the morning, if you prefer.

"Nope," Jack said with a grin, "Usually don't need normal sleep unless something happens that… well, if I die. I'm not a huge fan of dreams, either, so it won't work getting me out of your hair that way. Nice try, though."

The Doctor wiped a hand under his chin, scratching his face. "Ehn, it was worth a try."

"However," Jack said, "If you ask nicely, maybe I will leave you alone to think and research and do whatever it is you time lords do in private."

"Alright then. Please?"

Jack made a mock bow, then chugged the rest of his drink and walked towards the door. He sighed as he left the time lord alone to think. If only these new issues hadn't distracted the Doctor's mind, Jack would have asked for help on his current issue. And that wasn't something he was often willing to do. As it was, he resolved to solve the issue on his own. No need to bother the Doctor with his own issues. After all, the worst that could happen was that he'd die. And he'd been through that before and survived.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Finally, right? Another chapter!_**

**_AlihandriaEllis: Thanks for your review! I got lazy and forgot to write. Besides, it's pretty hard to continue when I'm tied up, being interrogated! :D_**

**_Thanks to all the people who followed and/or favorited! I wish I could say I'll write more often in the future, but school starts up again tomorrow... I'll do my best!_**

**Chapter 6: I Forgot to Remember to Forget**

After a night of going through of papers at his desk, while sneaking glances at the sleeping men every so often, Jack finally gave up and headed towards a mattress. He felt in no way tired, but organizing papers was so dull! More than once he wished someone else would file away all the important stuff for him. Someone nice to look at.

The Doctor had spent the night in the kitchen, presumably pacing and thinking. Jack had heard muttering at various intervals which let him know the time lord was still there and still conscious. He had no doubt the Doctor would refuse to sleep until he figured out whatever it was that was bothering him.

Jack had his own problems, and they just kept piling up. Of course, there was his boss, who hated his very existence. To show that hate, Jack was continually assigned suicidal missions, some of which ended with him either waking up in a morgue, or finding himself in a grimy prison cell. If Harkness were to refuse, he would just be tortured. It was so much better to simply die and come back than to feel horrendous pain for hours on end.

Then, there was Jack's newest case. He was to go solo on this one. There was the possibility that Torchwood was simply trying to lose him for good, but they would never do that while he was alive. If he so much as slipped out the first name of any employee of the secret organization, his boss would take great pleasure in letting him hang from the rafters for a while, dying over and over again. He couldn't leave; had to do his job. Had to find the mystery alien this far from the rift. The poor creature had done nothing except take the identity of an already dead human. It was living a decent life, causing no trouble. But Torchwood didn't accept any freaks.

With a sigh, Jack stared up at the bed board above him, wondering how he could weasel out of this one. The alien he was meant to murder was no ordinary alien, if there were even such a thing; she turned out to be a princess of her home world. And if Jack were to kill royalty, he would lead the whole of their army onto Earth, causing chaos and mass destruction.

At the same time, if he didn't kill her, someone else would come in from Torchwood and do the job for him, as well as do their best to make his life more of a hell than it already was. The war would still be started.

He couldn't just stop Torchwood, either. They had alien technology, weapons that were more deadly and more painful than anything else Jack had encountered. He should know. They tested every unknown on him, regardless of what it may do.

No, his predicament was not ideal. He had hoped by some miracle the Doctor would appear and, as usual, either talk everyone out of war or do something fantastic to make it stop. And, lo and behold, the Doctor had arrived! With problems of his own.

Now, with these unnamed electric extra-terrestrials running around and messing things up, everything just got more complicated. Instead of the Doctor helping him, Jack thought he would probably end up doing what he could for the time lord.

He sighed again, and closed his eyes, both hoping for and dreading sleep. Nightmares of his past weren't going to help anything, but he knew he had to remain alert for whatever was to happen later.

"Oi," a voice called out groggily, causing Jack to open his eyes, "some of us prefer to sleep without having to listen to depressed moans and such. I know I do."

With Paul's grumpy morning greeting, the other three sleeping men began to stir.

"Go back to bed, you lump," John groaned, rolling over and covering his head with a pillow.

"And I was having such a good dream," George sighed quietly, sitting up and wiping his eyes with a yawn.

Ringo simply curled up into a tighter ball and tried to tune everyone out.

Loudly swinging the kitchen door open, the Doctor strode into the room with a smile. "Ah, we're awake, are we?"

There was a chorus of groans, and one lone chuckle from Jack, as it was realized that the time for sleep had come to an end.

"Morning, Doctor," Jack greeted, laying back with his hands behind his head, putting on a smile and erasing the worried expression he had just had.

"Nearly afternoon, I would think!" the time lord replied, looking at an old clock on the wall that displayed the time as nearly noon.

"Not late enough," John grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

George stretched and began to place his feet on the steps, lowering himself off the bottom bunk. He yawned again, showing his eyeteeth, and proceeded to stretch once again. "Shouldn't sleep all day, though," he said, "That's just a waste."

Paul nodded reluctantly. "He's probably right." He slipped out of the bottom bunk, wincing at his stiff and sore muscles, his skin sporting a few blotchy bruises, and proceeded to hit the bunk above him. "Rise and shine, Johnny boy!" He ripped the sheets off of his band mate and threw them on the ground.

John's eyes shot open. "I'm gonna ruddy kill you, Paul," he growled, slowly uncurling himself from the ball he had been sleeping in.

Paul simply laughed.

The Doctor strolled over to the ladder leading up to the door and began to climb out.

"Where you going, Doc?" Jack asked, sitting up once more.

"Outside, of course! You lot coming?"

Jack looked at the Beatles, half of them fully awake, one nearly as grumpy as a weevil in a corner, one curled up into a ball, one staggering around trying to find his balance, and the other moving slowly to avoid pain. "Give us a minute," he said.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "If you're not up in ten minutes, I'm coming back and dragging you away from whatever you started, Harkness."

Jack winked. "I'll make it quick then."

Hearing this, and completely understanding that they were now alone in a room with Jack Harkness, the four quickly followed the time lord up the ladder, followed by Jack, who was taking great joy in the upward view at the bottom of the ladder.

"There you are!" the Doctor said, leaning against a tree and eating an apple that seemed to have come out of thin air, "Well, let's go then, allons-y!"

"Wait, where are we going?" John asked.

With a shrug, the Doctor finished the apple and tossed the thin remaining core into the brush. "Wherever the day takes us. Personally, I'd like to meet up with someone new. Jack? You driving?"

"NO!" the four Beatles said in unison, remembering quite clearly the horrendous ride of the night before.

Jack chuckled. "Where to?"

* * *

"I'm going to be sick," Ringo muttered, stuck in the middle of the backseat between John and Paul. George was casting nervous, uncomfortable glances to his right, as he was sitting next to Jack.

"Hey now, this is slow driving!" Jack said as they sped by lines of trees.

"This is slow?! Are you mad!" Paul replied, "What speed are we going?"

Jack shrugged. "This is nothing compared to what my ship used to do. Poor girl."

"You had a ship?" George questioned quietly.

"What'd you to do it?" John asked, "Blow it up on the sea?"

"Something like that," Jack said with another shrug, "Although I didn't really expect to escape her same fate."

The Doctor grinned. "You're welcome. Just lucky someone aboard the TARDIS liked you enough to save you."

Jack grimaced. "Yeah... Not only that time."

The two ancient men had a moment of silence, both smiles on their faces falling in sadness.

Not knowing what to think, the Beatles turned to look out the nearest window, relieved to see they were in a town, although not the one they had come from.

Jack put on the brakes quickly, causing everyone except the Doctor to jerk forward suddenly. "Here we are, kids!"

"Where are we?" Ringo asked.

Jack turned round to look at him, offering an encouraging smile. "Just on a little mission for our favourite physician."

The four men groaned at the rhyme as Jack hopped out of the SUV. "So, Doctor, where's this friend of yours?"

The Beatles decided to stay in the car, where they could maintain some sort of sanity.

The Doctor led Jack to a small store and opened the creaky door. "Somewhere in here, if I remember correctly."

At the counter sat a middle-aged man, looking quite ordinary. But Jack's skin crawled and tingled with the change in the air. His fingertips brushed against some sort of plush animal, giving him a small electric shock.

"How may I help you?" the ordinary-looking man asked, clearly delighted to see visitors in his store.

"Tell us how Seirhve is doing, will you?" the Doctor said, smiling back.

The man's face fell a bit. "Seirhve? I'm sorry, sir, what do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you're not who you look to be. Clever disguise, though. Just don't shake hands with anyone."

Although Jack was more than a bit lost, he kept his mouth shut and his confusion off of his face. He wasn't about to make himself look stupid.

Sighing, the man at the counter lost his smile completely. "Fine, you got me. But I haven't broken any rules by coming here, done nothing against the Shadow Proclamation, nothing against any planet's rules I know of. Even this one only specifies illegal immigrants from other countries of Earth, not from elsewhere."

"Relax, Decter, I've only come to talk. I'm the Doctor," he paused, as if expecting some sort of heroic praise. None was received, so he continued, "I'm here with my friend, Jack, and we just wanted to know if you've seen anything unusual. Some other sort of immigrant with genetic makeup similar to your own, but of course, not the same. No, something's different."

The man, or rather, alien, shook his head. "I don't think so. These humans are pretty strange, if you ask me, but I haven't been made aware of anyone out of the ordinary. If you're some sort of detective, Doctor, I have a case for you."

"We're already on a case," Jack said, not unkindly.

At the same time, the Doctor replied, "What sort of case?"

Decter looked down sadly for a moment, then faced the Doctor. "Some of my friends went missing. More than a few."

"Oh," the Doctor said, looking disappointed, "I'm afraid if it's simply human matters, the police here would do better."

"No, no, no," Decter said earnestly, "You misunderstand. These friends... They're my childhood friends. From Seirhve."

At this, the time lord perked up. "Tell me everything you know."

* * *

Back at the SUV, the Beatles were entertaining themselves by doing impressions of the Doctor and the Captain.

"No, lads, look at this," John said, as he stuck out his chest and tossed his head in the air. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness, little boy, come into my van and I'll give you some candy."

The others snorted as they laughed at the ridiculous impression.

"Wait, how about this one," Paul said, grabbing a comb from his pants pocket and making his hair stick up in the front. "I'm the Doctor, but I know nothing about medicine. Trust me, I know everything! Except medicine."

Again, there was a roar of laughter. But it was suddenly silenced as the four realized they were no longer alone. Facing away from them, someone in a black suit stood just outside the window, blocking out the sunlight. He was joined by many more black suited characters, all facing away.

"What is this...?" George asked, nervously watching the men.

Then, one of them turned towards the car, and a round of ear-splitting screams commenced. The suited figure was no man. Its face was wrinkled and odd-looking, with a mouth opened in a sinister "o". Their screams were justified. They had seen these creatures before. It was all coming back to them. At the studio, they saw them, and wondered what prank was being pulled, until they looked away and forgot. Paul suddenly remembered his crash. There had been no girl, only one of these things. Memories came flooding in as they stared and yelled in terror.

The Beatles heard a voice, even though their own screams should have blocked everything out. But this voice was in what should have been the privacy of their minds. This voice invaded their thoughts and left a strange, somewhat painful feeling in their skull. It sounded airy, but terrifying as the very words sent chills through the four men.

_"The Doctor cannot save you. The Beatles must exist no more."_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Sorry, so sorry! I'm a terrible person, keeping you waiting this long! I'll try not to be so lazy in the future!**_

_**Thank you to anvanell and Krissy0913 for the reviews! Hearing feedback reminds me that I should write and helps push through the laziness! Thank you also to everyone reading and especially those who follow or favorite! You're all awesome!**_

**Chapter 7: Help!**

Jack led the Doctor out of the small shop, knowing the time lord could talk all day to anyone if he wasn't distracted by something else.

"Nice talking, Decter!" Jack called as he walked out the door, the Doctor trailing behind as he looked at everything, taking his sweet time. Jack leaned up against the wall outside the door, waiting impatiently for the time lord who seemed quite bad at managing his time.

"That was informative," the Doctor said as he strolled out the door.

Jack grunted. "If you say so." He hadn't noticed anything important in the conversation. The missing Joulectros seemed like just another run-of-the-mill missing persons case. No trace of where they went, no strange deaths, nothing unusual. Decter hadn't given any information that seemed useful.

"I should really get aboard my TARDIS and pay a visit to Seirhve. Give me a lift, Jack?"

"I don't mind. Of course, the four musicians in the car may not be too happy about it," Jack replied.

Nodding, the Doctor agreed. "For their own good, don't leave them somewhere. If there's a chance they're in danger here, keep your eyes on the four. If they die earlier than they should, the future changes, and not for the better."

"I understand," Jack replied, opening the door to the vehicle. The Doctor was walking around to the other side.

"Uh... Doctor?" Harkness said, popping his head back out of the car.

"What could it possibly be, Jack?" the Doctor sighed, important things running through his head as he frantically tried to gather all the relevant facts and solve the puzzle of what was going on.

There was a pause. "What were you saying about the future changing if they got hurt?"

The Doctor mumbled something under his breath, a word Jack didn't know from any language he had studied. He assumed it was Gallifreyan, but really had no clue.

"Get in. We'll find them," Captain Jack ordered, his tone authoritive. In the serious mood surrounding him, he managed to suppress all of the innuendo comments constantly rolling around in his brain.

The two quickly ducked into the vehicle, speeding off before the doors had a chance to slam shut. Jack was an able driver, as terrifying as his manoeuvring was to some, and easily navigated through the cars going a much slower pace, cars not in a hurry. Cars not holding two time travellers on a mission. Although he couldn't be sure of where the Beatles had gone, or been taken, as he suspected, Harkness knew how he could find out.

He whipped out a small earpiece, far advanced in technology compared to the world around them. "Hey. I need you to give me the coordinates of 83729... Yes, I'm sure you're busy, but this is important... No, it can't wait! Yes, it's life or death, just DO IT!"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You do have someone on the other end of that earpiece thing, right, Jack?"

Jack glanced at the time lord, but said nothing, just nodded his head as information came through the comm link in his ear. "Thank you, Dave. No need to inform the boss, right? ...Screw you, too." He took the blue piece out of his ear and put it in his pocket.

"Got a signal on one of them. Managed to sneak a tracking device in George's shoe this morning on the way up the ladder. It's small, and it clings to fabric. No one should notice, and it shouldn't fall off," Jack informed the Doctor. He took a sharp right. "Leads to Chester. In Greyhound Park to be exact. Possibly under it, the signal's faint."

"Greyhound Park? I've never heard of it," the Doctor replied, scratching his head.

Jack shrugged. It didn't concern him that the Doctor wasn't familiar with every little landmark in the whole of England. The time lord's head was filled with so many galaxies and planets and moons and years; it only seemed natural that he wouldn't know everything.

The Doctor was racking his brains. He thought Greyhound Park sounded familiar, like he knew the name and a few things about it that could come in handy. But he couldn't retrieve any of that information, and it bothered him so! What was a time lord to do when his vast memory began to fail?

* * *

John shook his head to clear the fog, then immediately wished he hadn't. His head hurt like hell. It didn't help that his glasses had disappeared off his very nose, leaving him to squint in the gloomily lit room. It stank of dampness and mildew, an unpleasant mixture.

He gently lowered his pounding head to the floor, realizing with a start that it was wet. Jerking his head back up, he wiped a finger along the liquid, then raised it close to his face and squinted.

"Bloody hell!" he groaned, an edge of panic in his voice. The liquid was a gooey red, and smelled a bit of iron. Blood.

"John?" a voice croaked. Lennon twisted around to face whoever it was, squinting to just barely make out a figure not too far away. "Johnny?"

John crawled over to the man, unsteady enough on his hands and knees; he didn't know if he could even walk on his own two feet. The pounding in his head... It pressed against his temples as if something wanted to break free and tear a hole in his forehead. But he couldn't let himself crumple up in pain. Not yet.

"Rings?" John whispered, his own voice scratchy.

There was a small grunt that let Lennon know he was correct. "Listen, John... Paul and George. They... They wouldn't wake up. Paul was taken... John, they took Paul!"

John's already spinning head increased in speed, causing him to grit down hard on the pain. "George... Where's... George?"

Ringo pointed a feeble arm to his left, towards a dark shape rolled in a ball on the floor. "He's not moved, John... He's not... Johnny, no movement." There was a crack in his voice and he wiped angrily at the liquid pouring down his cheeks.

Following the arm in his fuzzy vision, John crawled over to George, trying not to think of what had happened to Paul. The git could get annoying at times, but John considered him his best mate, even after all those years. No, he couldn't think of Paul, had to help George.

"Georgie," John whispered, placing a hand on what he correctly assumed to be a shoulder. "George, come on." He shook the shoulder, unable to tell if it was cold or warm when his own hands were cold as ice. He blinked rapidly as liquid fell into his eye, warm and painful. It blurred his vision even more, tinting it red. Some of it splattered on George's neck. It was soon mixed in with salty tears as John could no longer hold back. "George... Wake up, George, get up. Get up, George, damn it! George!"

He hugged his friend and band mate, collapsing on the skinny body as his own weakened one gave out for a moment. He began to sob. The last twenty-four hours had been too much for Lennon; with the current unpleasant circumstances, his nerves had finally cracked. All the pain, all the emotion flooded in, drowning him in waves of horror and regret.

"George..." he whispered, "Paul..." Then, he closed fell back into a sleep, his mind being unable to take consciousness anymore.

* * *

Jack turned into the park, not slowing down as he drove right up on the grass. His eyes had darkened with every passing minute, knowing rescue for the Beatles had taken a long time in coming. He only hoped they were in time to stop any bloodshed.

"C'mon, Jack," the Doctor said, nearly flying out of the vehicle as Jack stepped on the brakes, slowing down just in time before they hit a tree. He followed the Doctor, who had taken out his screwdriver and was scanning the ground, the trees, the air. Anything for a sign of the four.

Jack scanned the area, relying on old-fashioned human senses for clues. Nothing he saw was out of the ordinary. At least not at first.

"Doctor."

The time lord spun around. "What is it? You find them? Secret entrance? Something?"

Jack's gaze was focused elsewhere. He didn't blink. "Doctor, what am I looking at and should I attack?"

The Doctor snapped his gaze to where the time agent was looking, and locked eyes with a familiar face. Black eyes and brown stared at one another, each equally unamused. There was a strange, rippled purring groan coming from the creature. Its face was one that even Jack couldn't find attractive, and Jack was quick to let others know how open to different genders and species he was.

"Jack. We found the kidnappers."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Another chapter for all you wonderfu lpeople! I do have to apologize... This is a lot of words about not a whole lot of action... Sorry!**_

_**Thanks to everyone reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing!**_

**Chapter 8: Wait**

Floating. That's all he was doing. All he could do. But he didn't mind in the slightest. It was pleasant, relaxing. A far cry from the emotions he had been feeling earlier.

A memory whizzed by just slow enough for him to relive the emotion contained within. Tumbling collages of fear, worry, and horror. They pushed at the fuzziest borders of his mind, trying to holler their tales to the peace within his mind. If he wanted, he could grant them access, open a door and brace for impact.

But why ruin the calm? Serenity covered him like a fleece blanket, lulling him into a deeper peace. His thoughts were warm and bumbling, but light as air. Maybe even lighter. They moved like molasses, and were just as sweet.

One bubbled up, loosely taking hold of his attention. It made him realize that he couldn't recall his own name. No name, no identity. But also no worries, couldn't forget that. He figured he was someone, and that was quite enough. More questions swirled in, taking their sweet time to form. Who was he? Why was he there? Where, exactly, was he?

Finally, an answer showed itself. Paul. That was it. His name was Paul. Paul who? Didn't matter. Just Paul. Floating Paul. Unbothered Paul. Peaceful Paul. Paul and John. Ringo. George.

Ah. The lads. That was right. They were his mates. He didn't know where they were. Didn't know where he was... Were they with him?

"Ringo?" he tried to call out, but the thought merely echoed around in his own thoughts. "George?" he attempted, failing once again in his endeavour to make noise. "John?" Again, nothing. Where did he leave his voice?

Paul would have shrugged it off, had he been able to find his own shoulders to shrug. He wouldn't let himself be bothered. This was a holiday, that was it. A holiday from being bothered. A nice holiday. Floating.

Suddenly, the holiday was over. Gravity returned, rushing in like a vengeful tidal wave, carrying Paul quickly back into the real world where his mind was no longer numb, and neither was his body. His nerves screeched a cacophonous chorus of pain. His chest screamed loudest, not providing useful information, but white noise blasting at full volume. He was fairly certain many of his ribs were broken, but couldn't assess any more with that. His brain cells were too busy assessing and reassessing just how much agony was occurring in nearly every inch of his body,

"Sorry, so sorry," he could hear, a single whimpering, apologetic, external sound. One that wasn't his own moaning echo to the internal noise.

"Here, I think... Yeah, they'll fix it, at least for... They'll help now."

Paul had no idea what the voice meant, probably wouldn't have even if he could think coherently. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth grit. He still saw nothing, but really wished he could back to feeling nothing as well.

_"Silence."_

Paul registered the unnatural voice in his mind. Having no energy to waste on trivial extra voices, he ignored it. Then, within a minute that seemed to stretch out far too long, the pain lessened. The burden on his mind and chest were lessened greatly, fading away.

Opening his eyes, McCartney cautiously looked around. The first thing he registered was that he was sideways on a cold, hard floor, inhaling the damp scents that lingered from past activities. His nose wrinkled up automatically.

Casting an eye away from the stone floor, Paul caught sight of a few shadowy figures stood far away from him. They were absolutely still. Averting his eyes, Paul continued scanning the room, raising his head to look all round him.

On his other side stood a man, looking to be as regular as anyone off the street. Besides the orange hair, he was quite mundane. Bland clothing. Timid, mousy face. Compared to the surroundings, he looked like an strong ally to trust.

"Oi, where am I?" Paul asked, sitting up slowly. He was light-headed. It sure beat being curled up in the foetal position he had been in a few moments before, though.

The man looked down at his shoes, nice and plain brown loafers, and mumbled, "I can't tell you... Not precisely. Only that you're about to be put on trial in a court of Silence."

Paul blinked and tilted his head slightly. "Court of what?"

"Come on, you... you have to follow me... I'm so, so sorry, mate," the man said, shuffling back a few steps and bowing his head in shame.

McCartney looked behind him to see the figures once again, closer this time. One took another step forward intimidately. "Uh, hold on a tic. Be right there with you," he said to the timid man, slowly rising to unstable feet with his eyes locked on the figures. Perhaps it was just his dizziness, but he had forgotten all about them when talking to the mousy man. No... Paul had a feeling it wasn't just him. Something extremely weird was going on, even weirder than meeting up with the confusing madman and his pervertive acquaintance.

"Through here," the man said, leading Paul, but not allowing him close enough to touch him. He seemed concerned about the Beatle's well-being and eager to help him, but he wouldn't allow any contact other than quietly speaking.

With a nod, Paul followed, casting a wary glance behind him. The figures. That was why he was nervous. He knew his that he somehow continued to neglect remembering that they were there, but how could he remind himself?

"Well, what's your name, then?" Paul asked the man he followed. He wondered why keeping close to the man seemed important.

The man let out a nervous laugh. "Call me what you want, you'll soon be cursing that name. Here we are," he sighed, opening a large door and motioning for Paul to walk through.

His skin tingled as he walked past the red-haired, shy man, as if some sort of electricity was radiating from him. As if that wasn't enough, the words spoken caused a cascade of shivers to roll down his back. Whatever waited for Paul was not going to be pleasant, and he easily gathered that.

"How did I get into this mess?" he asked himself. Not too long ago, he thought finding the strange, skinny man with eccentricities oozing from everywhere was unlucky. Now, he would do nearly anything to see that man, preferably with a rescue plan, appear from nowhere, eccentricities and all. His knowledge of the universe, at least, was comforting, as well as the fearlessness in every situation.

Jack, on the other hand, was not someone he would be comfortable with seeing ever again. Ever.

With a deep breath and a feeling of dread, Paul stepped through the opened doorway, into a bright room full of dozens of figures, their presence bringing back memory after memory. Behind him was the ashamed man, escorted by the three figures as if another prisoner. They shut the door, slamming it shut with a deep, resonating boom.

In stadium-style seats sat most of the figures, eerily quiet and serious. Three of them sat presiding in the middle of the large room, seated at a large counter. In front of them was a table. Upon seeing what, or rather who, was motionless on their back on that table, Paul began to cry softly. He knew then that he was doomed.

* * *

Jack was floating, this time. He knew this place well, had visited many times, but never for long enough to properly figure out exactly what it was. The floating was a tiresome event, a prospect of hope, then a reminder of his curse. Weightlessness could be fun, as Jack knew well, but this place of supposed serenity was lacking in that element.

Grumbling to himself, carrying on a thought monologue as he waited for the inevitable, Jack began to piece together what had happened this time.

It was those weird creatures, the ones the Doctor seemed to recognize. In all of Jack's years, he had never seen one. He couldn't bring back the memory of them, either. They were faceless, shapeless... But he knew they were... well, something. Mostly, he just remembered the Doctor's face. It was his "oh, look, a dangerous creature" face. That face was his only clue to who had killed him.

That, and the few conscious moments where he lay face-down in the frosted grass. He felt as if he had been burned alive, crisped into a blackened lump. There was no fire; it wasn't that kind of burn. It felt like that time he was struck by lightning on top of a radio building. Then, he was transported into the nothingness around him, the place of the biologically dead.

Electricity. Somehow, he was electrocuted. The mystery creature seen by the Doctor had to be one with control over that element.

Jack would have growled in frustration, maybe hit a hand against the wall, if he could have. As it was, he could only think violent thoughts and try to suffice with them. It would have to do.

Impatience was now at the front of his mind. There were some deaths where this numb state was welcoming. This was not one of those. He knew he needed to come back and fix the wrong, whatever it was. He needed closure on this one. If the Beatles weren't rescued, who knew what would become of the future? The Doctor was concerned, and that was more than enough to make Jack just as worried.

A slight tingling all around warned Jack of what was next. It was a small signal, one that anyone on their first time back to life would probably never notice, but Harkness was an expert at recognizing it. It was the signs of life coming back. His body mending itself. Heart priming to restart, neurons preparing to fire once more, muscles aching to flex and move.

Next was the involuntary gasp, the surge of panic and adrenaline as life rushed through him, demanding oxygen. His head flew up with that gasp, leaving him wild-eyed in a sitting position, frantically trying to get his bearings. His eyes focused, cones and rods catching all they needed to send the surrounding view into conscious thought.

Panting slightly, Jack's heart sunk. His anger then rose as he recognized and remembered the creatures that attacked him and caged the Doctor. They were everywhere, sitting in a huge semi-circle, rows and rows of them.

And there was Paul, a man innocent of any harm, looking terrified as tears fell down his face. His mouth gaped open as he witnessed Jack's resurrection, but the fear neither grew nor lessened. Jack wasn't the one scaring the poor Beatle, he could see that. It was the monsters with the ugly, expressionless faces.

Jack growled, then swung a leg over and hopped off the table he was on. An undignified sacrifice was what he had looked like. Nothing more than a pawn in their game, whatever it was.

There was a small murmur in the air, that same sinister purring noise that Jack had heard before his death. It was coming from the suited, pale and disturbing creatures surrounding him. Their eye sockets, massive, stared at him, unwilling or unable to show any emotion.

"Well," Jack said, striding up towards the centre table at which three creatures sat, "Looks like you're in charge. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to shut your operation down under the authority of Torchwood. Now, we should start with letting Paul over there go, as well as the other three men I assume you have locked up somewhere. You also have a close friend of mine that you'll have to let free."

Without moving any features on its face, one of them spoke. It emotionlessly uttered a short phrase. "No, you will be shut down."

A mouth appeared seemingly from nowhere on the alien's face, making a large round shape. It raised its hands, pointing them towards Jack. They crackled with blue electricity, making shapes in the air around their hands.

There was a small cry of pain coming from near Paul, from a small man. He was cringing and holding his sides as if to keep his own organs in. There was the tiniest bit of orange light radiating from him, but it wasn't very bright.

Jack dug around for a gun, knowing he had one when he was knocked out. More than one, actually. But his pockets had been stripped bare. No weapons.

He looked up, straight into the empty eye sockets of the electrifying creature. Then, in a flash of blue light, he was sent tumbling to the floor, heart stopped once again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello there! Look, look, it's another chapter! Heads up, this might be a tear-jerker, if I wrote it right...**

**Thank you so, so much to everyone favoriting, following, reviewing, and reading! It means so much that you do so! Thanks especially to Krissy0913 and a mysterious guest for reviewing! Krissy0913, enjoy your popcorn and the drama that follows!**

**Chapter 9: I'll Cry Instead.**

The Doctor was the only one who had not been either knocked out or killed. He was far too great a prize for the group of aliens to injure. To harm him would have meant that capturing the time lord had been difficult, showing weakness within the strange order of creatures, but if they were to trap the famed Doctor while he was fully conscious, as they did, they would be looked upon with greater respect. Although the order was known for being forgotten, the very few that managed to retain some sort of memory would know of their greatness. And they intended to be truly great.

With that thought process, the creatures threw the Doctor into a small room, bathed in dull orange light and reeking of sewage and musty mold. The time lord was stripped of his coat

and his pockets emptied, leaving him with few resources. Not that a lack of resources could stop him.

Hr shivered in the chilly room, having tired of conversing one-sidedly with the anti-social aliens he assumed were monitoring him in some fashion or another. He had plenty more to say, always did, but without a response, it had grown quite tiresome. He stayed quiet for a time, but he knew that wouldn't last long. It took a lot to shut up the Doctor.

Shoving a hand in his pocket, he set his jaw and began to formulate a plan. Moments like that were the ones he excelled at: creating a last minute escape, formulating it and molding it to fit the changing circumstances.

"Right," he mumbled, speaking so as to better organize his thoughts into the important ones and the irrelevant side notes, "Empty room, walls peeling, some sort of slow-working toxin, but it's not fatal to life forms, I think... Being monitored by... Well, it must be someone, or locking me up would be rather idiotic. Unless they are idiots... No, no, best not to assume that. I've got the clothes off my back. I'd rather keep them on, actually, if at all possible. Some shoes, and a lovely layer of grime on the floor. Mhmm, all I would need it... Yeah, I think that should do it."

He paced back and forth, softly mumbling to himself intelligently. His nine hundred year old mind turned the hopeless surroundings into an ingenious plot to set himself free.

Taking off a shoe, but only one, and loosening his tie until he could untangle it from his shirt, the time lord prepared to set his plan into action.

Ringo watched on helplessly as John crumpled on top of George, The two lay in a pile of unmoving Beatles, a dark mass in the only slightly lighter gloom.

"John?" he called out hoarsely, wincing in pain. When he had awoken, his whole body was in huge amounts of pain. So much pain that he physically could not move from the corner in which he was slumped. There was no doubt that one of his legs was broken, twisted awkwardly to his side. He could feel a sharp pain his chest, his lungs, and deduced that it must be a rib poking him, making each breath one of hurt. His lip was split and had just recently stopped bleeding, the tears that couldn't be stopped stinging as they hit the open wound.

There was no answer, still. He wasn't even sure if anyone else in the room was alive. And Paul... Poor Paul! Ringo couldn't remember seeing him be taken, but he knew. Deep down, he knew. A feeling of dread drowned him when he thought about it, a memory poking at his consciousness, but not opening the door and coming in.

He closed his eyes and drifted into a half-sleep, a state of conserved energy. His senses were still alert and he could be drawn into full wakefulness in an instant, but he was tired. His battered body demanded rest, while his terrified mind demanded action that couldn't be done.

Within moments, he snapped back to attention as a soft footstep reached his ears. His blue eyes opened wide as he scanned his dark surroundings. Having no idea what he was terrified of, only that it was indeed terrifying, Ringo shrank against the wall, body quivering in fear.

For a while, there was silence, then a loud thump as something came whizzing through the air, a long cloth with a clunky object on one end. It landed in the middle of the room and remained there, inanimate.

Ringo lifted his eyes from the object to the direction it came from. It was a small doorway, a cave-like entrance that would have been so easy to escape through, had the three Beatles been able to make their way toward it.

Through the arched doorway walked a figure, looking confident and proud as he nearly waltzed in, goofy hair sticking up in all directions.

"Hullo?" the man called, going to retrieve his thrown object, "Anyone there?"

Ringo squinted, hardly daring to breath, trying to piece together what was going on. Then, it dawned on him that the only one with such ridiculous hair paired with the slim figure was the Doctor. Of course, George after a night of tossing and turning was another possibility, but Ringo knew Harrison's voice well enough to rule him out. Besides, he was still lying on the floor on the opposite side of the room-like cavern, John passed out on top of him.

"Doctor?" Ringo asked hoarsely.

The man spun around with his object cocked to be thrown, what looked to be a shoe with a neck tie knotted oddly around the footwear. There were odd lumps coming off from it, and it reeked, the scent similar to the overall nasal experience of the dank room, but amplified.

"Who's that? Mr. Starkey?" the Doctor asked, lowering his make-shift weapon and striding over to the drummer. He knelt down next to him. "Where are the others? Safe away from here, I hope?"

Ringo shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

"No, didn't think so. Not enough luck for that. Well, then, I suppose they can't be far. This underground hole can't go on forever." The Doctor began to twirl the modified shoe around his fingers, his unclad foot tapping as he thought, "I don't suppose... No, they wouldn't put them all together. That makes rescue too easy. No, I'd guess a room over, maybe, or through some doorway or-"

"Doctor," Ringo rasped, grabbing his hand urgently, "Over there. George. John." He pointed to the dark masses on the floor.

Turning to look, the Doctor nodded. "Ah. I guess I overestimated." He stood up and went to George and John. "Richard, you do realize that... uh, well..."

Ringo's heart skipped a beat. He had already been cold, but then he felt frozen. All warmth left him as he anticipated what the time lord was struggling to find words for.

"Hm... How do I put this? Ringo... Richard... Ah..." he trailed off, then stood up angrily, "But this can't happen! They can't die like this! They're not due for another..." he began to count on his fingers, then stopped, "No matter exact numbers, it's around fifteen years for Lennon, and thirty-ish for Harrison! They have so much yet to do! This will change the future as I know it to an outlandish place... This CAN'T HAPPEN!"

Ringo went limp, taking in what the Doctor had said. His friends were gone. His career, done. His mates... Dead. All that hope he had somehow mustered in the hopeless, empty room was worthless. John and George were cold and lifeless in the very room he sat, wounded too much to even drag himself over to their side, and Paul had disappeared, probably to some worse fate ending in the same result.

He had never felt more alone in his life.

The Doctor mumbled angrily under his breath, the words unfamiliar, but the meaning obvious enough. He was cursing in some language, that much Ringo could work out. Not that it mattered. Cursing did about as much as hoping. Nothing.

"Richard," the Doctor said, suddenly, "I need to find Paul. And Jack. Stay here, I'll be back." He dashed out, carrying the strange shoe creation in one hand. Ringo didn't want to know.

All he wanted was his friends back.

The second time Jack resurrected, Paul wasn't really surprised. It had taken about ten minutes for Harkness to come back, enough for the strange creatures around him to begin a trial of sorts. They had accused him of endangering the Order of the Silents, creating mayhem and chaos on the streets through revolutionary tactics, and avoiding sentencing for the past day and a half.

Of course, the sentence he had somehow managed to avoid was death.

Paul watched with tears running down his pale face as he was told that he was only the first of four trials today. Four. There was no doubt in his mind that he knew the other three, and he knew they would receive the same sentence.

"Okay," Jack said, a little peeved, but otherwise calm, as he raised himself from the ground. "That didn't work the first time, what makes you think it would work the second? And, no, I'm sorry to inform you that the third time is not the charm. Don't be cliché."

The creatures ignored him, continuing to run through a list of accusations and consequences for the bassist.

"Hello!" Jack said, waving his arms and jumping around, "Talking here! I'm the one who'll give you a good time, the one who's a challenge." He winked. "Come on, freaks, bring it on!"

There was no response from the creatures, which really ticked Jack off. He stepped up to one of the hideous beings at random and sent a quick slap across its face.

As he did that, finally catching the attention of at least one of the creatures, the doors flung open. To Paul's relief, it was the Doctor standing in the doorway, his shoe in hand. The shoe was smothered in filth.

"Doctor?" Jack asked, ignoring the creature slowly inching its hand closer to his neck.

"Hullo Jack! Paul! Well, it was nice, but it's time to go."

Jack laughed, swatting aside the alien hand as it touched his neck, sending a shock through his body, "Leaving? I've just begun to have fun!"

Paul took his chance and fled to the Doctor's side. "Leaving sounds good," he whimpered.

"Come on, Jack," the Doctor said, throwing his mysterious shoe creation into the center of the room. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, having found it in one of the cavern-like rooms. "Jack, let's go!"

Jack, with a raised eyebrow, hurried out of the room, preceded by the man with the orange hair who had been with Paul when he had awoken earlier.

The Doctor slammed the door shut and pointed his screwdriver at it, tinkering with the settings until the hinges could no longer move, accomplishing the same as locking the door.

"What's with the shoe?" Jack asked as he took Paul's side and helped him hurry along with the Doctor. Paul would have objected had he not been so exhausted.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to know. Just... run."

He led the way to the room that held the other three Beatles, momentarily forgetting the discovery of the last time he had been in there.

"Ringo?" the Doctor called out, "Ringo, we're back to-"

There was a sound of a small explosion from the direction in which they came from.

Jack looked back, then grinned. "I don't know how you managed to do that with a shoe, but you have got to teach me!"

Captain Jack was ignored. "We're back to bring you out!" the Doctor finished, rushing to Ringo's side.

His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. His face was coated in tears, the fresh ones simply washing away the old and taking their place. He had wanted so badly to just have the pain end, the misery disappear as the world faded, but it didn't. The wounds weren't killing him, only greatly weakening, and he hadn't the resolve to do anything himself. Instead, he sat and mourned the loss of half the band.

Paul weakly pushed Jack away and limped over to his friend, plopping down with a grunt next to him. "Rings? Rings, are you alright? Where's Johnnie? And Georgie?"

A fresh wave of tears cascaded down the drummer's face. He opened his eyes, light glinting off the rivers leading from the blue irises to drip off his chin. Without words, he let Paul know, simply by looking with sad eyes and remaining silent.

"No... NO! Ringo, you... NO!" Paul shouted from his spot on the floor. His own hazel eyes, just recently half-dried, somehow found more liquid to pour out as his heart fell and shattered.

Jack scanned the room and found the bodies. He walked over to them and placed a hand on the icy skin, shaking his head as he did so. He blinked, and when his eyes opened, they had turned hard and cold.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor whispered, "I... There's nothing I can do... This is all wrong." He looked vacantly off into the air around him, guilt settling firmly in his gut. When the day was over, no matter who he managed to save, there was always a new ghost to haunt him. This time, it was two.

"Excuse me," a quiet voice piped up, barely audible. It was the red-haired man who had followed them out. They had assumed him innocent and allowed him to tag along without question. They had other things on their mind to worry about at the time.

"What?" Jack asked, his voice dangerous as he whipped around to face him.

Taken aback, the man shuffled his feet a bit before stepping forward, noticing uncomfortably that all eyes were on him. "I... I can help," he whispered weakly, managing to make eye contact with Harkness. He glanced over at the Doctor, "Really, I can."

The man closed his eyes and reached out an arm in John and George's direction. A soft glow began to radiate from his hand and his orange hair intensified to glow in the dark. All his skin began to glow with the comforting orange glow, the brightest forming at his outstretched hand. He whimpered, as if in pain, but kept his eyes shut tight in concentration.

"What is he doing?" Jack asked, backing away from the two lifeless Beatles.

The Doctor stood there with his head cocked to the side. "I think..." he began, then trailed off.

The light swirled from the man's hand, twisting and curling in the air in soft circles until it reached John and George. They were surrounded by the light, illuminated by the tangerine glow.

Opening his eyes, the man grit his teeth and pushed the light one step further, forcing just a bit more to join the smoky radiation settling around the two bodies. Then, he pulled his hand back and returned to normal luminosity. The rest of the embodied light gathered and hung around the two Beatles before fading.

Everyone remained silent.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hello! Sorry for yet another delay on this story... I'll admit I honestly didn't have a plot planned out to begin with, and so this has been quite the adventure! Anyway, this should be the last one, except for the epilogue. Apologies for the writing and characters. I'm sick and a bit out of it. Hopefully, you still enjoy!**_

_**Thanks all for reading, favoriting/following, and of course, reviews! **_

**Chapter 10: Carry That Weight**

Paul looked away. He couldn't handle yet another heart-breaking event, especially not so soon after first realizing they were dead. Then, this strange man showed up and worked some magic, prodding at and stirring Paul's hope once again only to let it smash back down into despair. They were gone. And even with all this weird alien magic, John and George still weren't breathing.

"Well," Jack sighed, "That was anticlimactic. Thanks for nothing, pal." He turned to look at the red-haired man, but he had disappeared, echoed footsteps fading down the cavern. Jack growled to himself.

The Doctor looked at the two lumped together Beatles, his stony face hiding the guilt and pain turmulting inside him. He felt so useless, knowing there was nothing he could do. Not even his brilliant mind and vast memories could conjure a plan to save them. And the previous plan of trusting the strange man had failed. Of course, the Doctor knew he hadn't really been human.

"It didn't work," Ringo croaked, bluntly stating the same thought that was rolling around in everyone's mind, replaying like a song on repeat, a never-ending record.

"No," the Doctor agreed gently. When he admitted it, the situation became so much more real for Paul and Ringo. Paul fell to his knees.

Jack looked around nervously. "We should leave," he said, "They could find us."

"Who?" asked Ringo dully.

Jack opened his mouth, then furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't know. But we need to stay away from them."

"Agreed," the Doctor said, straightening up.

Paul interrupted the two as they began to help Ringo, now numbly doing what he was told, to his feet, "Wait! We can't leave them here. They... They can't be left here alone. John was... he didn't want anyone to know... He was afraid of the dark..."

Jack gave the time lord a look, then shrugged. He continued to pull Ringo up, then walked over to Paul who was still kneeling next to the bodies. "Okay. Go help your friend. We'll take these two back to the car." After Paul began to obey, Jack motioned the Doctor over. "Come on, you'll have to carry one of them."

Paul took Ringo from the Doctor, letting the drummer rest with his arm around Paul's shoulder, his weight leaning onto the bassist. Ringo's breathing was ragged; his lungs were prodded by a rib when he inhaled.

Grunting, Jack hefted John over his shoulder, the limp weight settling uncomfortably on him. He readjusted the body, then turned to the Doctor, who scooped George up into his arms, but had trouble rising back to a standing position. The Captain reached out a free hand and helped lift George up in the middle. Had the situation been any different, he would have smirked and made a comment about the guitarist's bum, but it didn't seem appropriate even to Harkness.

"Thanks," the Doctor said to Jack, then turned to Paul and Ringo. "Alright, follow me." He led the way out of the earthen room, making sure the two Beatles were following. Jack took up the rear, one arm holding John in place, the other tensed at his side in case they had the misfortune of running into trouble, a highly regular occurrence in both Jack's and the Doctor's lines of work.

It was slow going. The time lord was breathing heavily as he carried the full grown man in his arms. He pressed on, but really began to despise himself for having so much trouble. It had been a while since he had to do any heavy lifting and, skinny or not, George wasn't much fun for him to carry. The plodding, sometimes stumbling, footsteps of Paul and Ringo behind him were the only assurances he needed that everyone else was still behind him, and safe.

"Oi!" Paul growled, twisting around to look at Jack, "Don't be feeling up Lennon! He wouldn't  
like that, not from a bloke like you!"

Ringo stumbled and fell into Paul, who refocused his attention and caught the man.

Jack shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, then added, "Well, maybe in a dream."

Warmth filled his body, the warmth of a morning sun, seeping into his core, then slowly inching through his limbs like honey dripping from a honeycomb. It filled his entirety until he felt the faintest tingling, then the next wave coursed through in its snail-like manner.

Soon, he became aware of motion. The world around him bobbed and swung unevenly, as if caught in a turtle paced earthquake, slowly shaking everything, stretching on forever in time.

A demanding voice filled with emotion called out through the fog of his shaking world. He knew that voice, but its sound sent chills throughout his newly warmed body. Never had he heard it so filled with sorrow. He strained to hear what it would say next, this time wanting to pay attention to the words, but it stayed quiet.

What did start was a sudden pounding. He felt it as well as heard it, muffled by his own skin. A heartbeat, if his returning memory proved correct. His heart was beating.

Then, the honey-slow drips of remembrance transformed into a flood. His mother's face flashed across his mind, then his father's. He saw the old school he had gone too, the uniformed boys. He saw Paul, then John, grinning in their leather jackets and teddy boy hair. A flash of blue eyes became Ringo. Guitars flew by, the one he tried to make himself, his first real guitar, an acoustic, an electric. Snippets of tunes rushed through, sharing their melodies for a single moment before making way for others. Memories crowded through his consciousness, pushing in from everywhere and overwhelming him.

He gasped as his lungs remembered how to breateh, and that they needed oxygen. His eyes popped open in a panic, taking in the dim world, and then he was falling.

"You dropped him!" Paul hollered angrily at the Doctor, letting go of Ringo and rushing to George's side.

The Doctor placed a hand on Paul's chest as a warning. "I'm sorry, but... wait. Something's not right."

Paul's mouth dropped as he witnessed George sluggishly roll over onto his stomach, moving an arm slowly to his lower back and rubbing it. "No," he murmured, his voice thick, "It's not. Where am I?"

"George?" Paul gasped.

Harrison grinned, his trademark toothy smile taking up most of his face. He quickly turned that into a grimace. "Ouch. Everything sort of... hurts."

An angry cry from behind caused everyone to turn around.

"Get your bloody hands off me arse!" John growled.

Jack quickly readjusted his grip, then lowered Lennon to the ground, looking astonished. "As you wish," he said.

John raised himself up to a wobbly stance, glaring at the Captain.

"John?" Ringo cried, "George? You're alive!"

George hoisted himself up, leaning on the sloping wall for balance as he stood. "Of course we are. Just blacked out for a bit."

"No," Ringo argued, "You were... and then they... and that red-haired bloke!"

"Of course!" the Doctor said suddenly, "That man! He wasn't human-"

"Clearly," Paul interjected, "He made orange wrap around them!"

"-He wasn't human," the Doctor continued, "He was Joulectrian! He must have been the friend Decter was talking about. They have quite the electricity, those Seirhve natives. And electricity, of a form, is what runs through your bodies and keeps them alive. Just give some more of that energy, like he did, and the body responds and works once more! Oh, and the mitochondria can produce phosphoralize the adenosine diphosphate once more, and the-"

"So, he saved them?" Paul asked.

The Doctor smiled. "Yes. Yes he did."

"Who saved us?" George asked. He was ignored as Jack spun around in a panic, then began to herd the others forward as fast as he could.

"Get your hands off!" John said, resisting the pushes Jack was giving to get everyone moving.

Jack sighed. "Don't flatter yourself, handsome, I'm more concerned about saving your ass than playing with it at the moment. Now go!"

They stood, confused, for a moment, then a sound reached them. A rock skittered across the floor, and there were low sounds of inhuman breathing coming from behind them. The Doctor quickly leapt into action, motioning for the others to run with him, run towards the exit.

They did so, to their best ability. John and George were unsteady, their muscles not yet fully awake, while Ringo struggled with his broken rib and limp. Paul was just plain exhausted, bruised and battered like the others, but doing his best not to be a baby about it.

"Almost there!" the Doctor encouraged, hoping he was going the right way. He figured he was owed a little good luck to offset all the rotten luck he had encountered so far.

And the luck did come through, as an opening was revealed, a small cave that they had to crouch to fit through, but an exit all the same. The Doctor stood to the side as Ringo painfully crawled through, followed by John. George was next, and he tripped, ending up diving cleanly through the opening. Last was Paul, whose hazel eyes showed his exhaustion. The Doctor watched Jack slip through next, then he followed as shadows danced on the walls.

"Car's this way," Jack said, immediately leading the tired Beatles on another run through the park. They followed obediently.

The Doctor remained behind for a moment, a thought nagging at his mind. He couldn't place who the attackers were. And that was bothersome.

"Come on, Doctor!" Jack hollered in a commanding tone, and the time lord shrugged and jogged after the others. The important thing was that everyone was safe.

Receding back into the shadows, hissing voices cursed after the time lord, the immortal, and the musicians. The plan had gone all wrong and they were sure to be punished. The Order of the Silence was not a place for failure.

They slunk back to their lair, formal suits still pristine despite the dank and filthy environment. They had not succeeded, and could only hope for a new mission. They had one chance, one allotted time to care of the problem of the Beatles, and would since go down in Silence history as the ones who had ruined that chance. The rest of the world would never know for certain, but the Silence knew all.

So they thought.

One thing they did know for certain was that the Doctor was an enemy. And he would have to be defeated one day. When the time came for his demise, the Silence would not fail. They planned to triumph.

And so, they let the Beatles go.


End file.
